When do I get to the 'bewitching?'

The littles finished school yesterday. I made it through drop off without crying. Made it home to finish packing them up and packing myself. The divorce party dress I left hanging in my wardrobe. I think it probably has only two more wears before I release it back into the wild. In my haste to pack for the littles and myself, I forget my parents then wonder if I really need to make every bit of travel about them.  It's been a year and a day since I walked in to the hospital room of the ornery bastard that turned out to be my dad and walked back out,  bothered and bewildered. 'I think I've been sent to the wrong room. I'm looking for...'  Some days, I wonder if I am just waiting for the 3rd 'B' to drop. 

The co-parent's engagement is official, both looking happy and in love, as they should. My own relief at having the former husband remarried is palatable. Is that strange? Perhaps. It causes me to pause and think about the future of my own romantic endeavours and how I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about something that has only ever really baffled me. So perhaps tthe thing is to do is not think about it at all. I don't dislike the current state of play and certainly, as Rhiannon Giddeons reminds me, it was most definitely best that we unwound. And maybe that just isn't a state of being of which I am suited. Not in a sad 'whoa, is me,' way but more in a 'the silence of being able to hear myself away from my littles is quite a thing in itself. 

So, after brunch, luxurious nap, and afternoon with my old housemate and creative writing chum, I took another nap and booked myself into a play at the Donmar: A Dolls House: Paper  Two. I mean, I'll be in Norway tomorrow for the first time since my emancipation was official, so surely it is appropriate.

I try to remember the last time I was at the Donmar and it escapes me. But then it doesn't matter because the lights drop and I'm back in late 19th century Norway.  And so much has changed for Nora, for Torvald, for Anne Marie. And yet, how much stays the same? And there is the way Nora is forced to confront her own bias and class, Torvald his own lies of omission and complicity. Their daughter, much to think on there. The cast are tight and succinct. It is live theatre the way you always hope it will be. 

90 minutes, no intermission, and I'm back at the hotel, my brain buzzing with the layers and dialogue. I order comfort food, take a tea pot of hot water to bed to make sleepy time tea. How much can one person sleep, you ask? Try me.